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Page 80
"You haven't said a word for five minutes," she declared. How boyish
he looked for a man of his experience!
"Silence is sometimes good for the soul," sententiously.
"Of what were you thinking?"
His heart struck hard against his breast. What an opening, what a
moment in which to declare himself! But he said: "Perhaps I was
thinking of breakfast. This getting up early always makes me ravenous.
The smell of the captain's coffee may have had something to do with it."
"You were thinking of nothing of the sort," she cried. "I know. It
was the treasure and this great-grandson of Napoleon. Sometimes I feel
I only dreamed these things. Why? Because, whoever started out on a
treasure quest without having thrilling adventures, shots in the dark,
footsteps outside the room, villains, and all the rest of the
paraphernalia? I never read nor heard of such a thing."
"Nor I. But there's land yonder," he said, without an answering smile.
"Then," in an awed whisper, "you believe something is going to happen
there?"
"One thing I am certain of, but I can not tell you just at this moment."
A bit of color came to her cheeks. As if, reading his eyes, she did
not know this thing he was so certain of! Should she let him tell her?
Not a real eddy in the current, unless it was his fear of money. If
only she could lose her money, temporarily! If only she had an ogre
for a parent, now! But she hadn't. He was so dear and so kind and so
proud of her that if she told him she was going to be married that
morning, his only questions would have been: At what time? Why, this
sort of romance was against all accepted rules. She was inordinately
happy.
"There is only one thing lacking; this great-grandson himself. He will
be yonder somewhere. For the man in the chimney was he or his agent."
"And aren't you afraid?"
"Of what?" proudly.
"It will not be a comedy. It is in the blood of these Napoleons that
nothing shall stand in the path of their desires, neither men's lives
nor woman's honor."
"I am not afraid. There is the sun at last What a picture! And the
shame of it! I am hungry!"
At half after six the yacht let go her anchor a few hundred yards from
the quay. Every one was astir by now; but at the breakfast table there
was one vacant chair--Breitmann's. M. Ferraud and Fitzgerald exchanged
significant glances. In fact, the Frenchman drank his coffee hurriedly
and excused himself. Breitmann was not on deck; neither was he in his
state-room. The door was open. M. Ferraud, without any unnecessary
qualms of conscience, went in. One glance at the trunk was sufficient.
The lock hung down, disclosing the secret hollow. For once the little
man's suavity forsook him, and he swore like a sailor, but softly. He
rushed again to the deck and sought Captain Flanagan, who was enjoying
a pipe forward.
"Captain, where is Mr. Breitmann?"
"Breitmann? Oh, he went ashore in one of the fruit-boats. Missed th'
motor."
"Did he take any luggage?"
"Baggage?" corrected Captain Flanagan. "Nothin' but his hat, sir.
Anythin' wrong?"
"Oh, no! We missed him at breakfast." M. Ferraud turned about,
painfully conscious that he had been careless.
Fitzgerald hove in sight. "Find him?"
"Ashore!" said M. Ferraud, with a violent gesture.
"Isn't it time to make known who he is?"
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